


Wings

by greglestrudel



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Wing AU, mystrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2018-11-29 04:17:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11432979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greglestrudel/pseuds/greglestrudel
Summary: Greg has wings. Sherlock relapses. Mycroft emails Greg. Things go from there.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello! this is my first ever fic and i have only a general idea where it's going, so it'll be exciting for you and i both as it's written. thanks to oliver (@/transiock on twitter) and ashley (@/dontjustlivefly) for "inspiring" this. on we go! <3

17.12  
These days were rather easy, what with everyone wearing large coats and oversized jumpers. It made things quite simple - ace bandage, large jumper, overcoat. Not the most comfortable - but then it never was. One gets used to it.

Greg went about life as usual. Things were slow at Scotland Yard; December generally meant the spirit of love and giving. Even Greg himself couldn’t hide the bounce in his step every now and again. He stopped at the reception desk in the morning, complemented the woman on her broach or her new hair pin, got himself a cup of coffee and a donut from the break room, and headed to his office. He found it quite lucky that he his own office, one with entire privacy and a door. Made things that much easier, he thought.

After settling in his office and letting his bandages a bit looser, Greg entered the pass to his desktop and opened his emails. To no surprise, he had many: 39 in spam, 14 from different branches of the forces and one from a _M. Holmes._ He wasn’t unfamiliar with the name, he had worked with a private - “consulting” - detective of the same last name. Still, he had never any encounters with a M. Holmes. Sifting through the messages, sorting them with flags and deleting the unimportant ones, Greg finds himself rather intrigued by this M. Holmes. He reads the email over;

‘Good Evening,  
I contact you in regards to my brother, Sherlock Holmes. From what I understand you have spoken to him on multiple occasions, yes? Very well. I do not mean to be too forward, but I do not suppose there is a gentler way to put this. Sherlock has been hospitalised for his drug habits once again. He is okay, - as okay as he can be for the moment - but he is rather unstable. As you might have noticed, he is a rather intelligent boy. Unfortunately, this means that he is easily bored. However, there are a few things that manage to keep him entertained and thus clean. This is where I believe you could help.  
Sherlock solves crimes to get high. He’s an addict, and the natural high as an effect of the adrenaline seems to be the best way for him to get his fix. I come to you with inquiries about allowing him to assist you occasionally? Do get back to me as soon as possible.  
Warm regards,  
M. Holmes’

Greg finds himself confused to begin, and then rather shocked. Sherlock had not seemed like the type to get into that sort of thing, but then Greg had difficulty placing Sherlock with anything. He was much an of enigma to Greg. Still, brilliant nonetheless.

Quickly, Greg tapped out a reply, conveying his condolences and explaining details as to Sherlock being able to help. At the end, he attached his personal email and mobile along with his office extension. It only seemed reasonable - this was a rather serious matter after all.

For lunch, Greg finds himself headed for the cafe on the corner, dragging on a cigarette as he walks. A rather nasty habit of his, yes, but one he had a hard time breaking. He didn’t see a reason to  
anyway, he hadn’t anyone to be bothered by it. The cold on his face was greeted harshly by the warmth of the cafe, a sensation Greg found to be rather pleasant. He decided a cuppa and a pastry would be in order.

His mind wandered as he ate, absently watching the cabs pass outside. A light snow dusted the ground and the roofs of buildings, making it feel like a proper Christmas. The email from M. Holmes made its way back to his focus as he sipped his tea, and he found himself wondering a multitude of things about him; Where had he gotten Greg’s email? How did he know Sherlock had worked with him in the past? What did he do? Was there something more he could do to help? He sighed, returning to the atmosphere and finishing his lunch before bundling up again and facing the cold.


	2. Chapter 2

24.12

The week came and went like summer nights, quicker than one would know it but only in a good spirit. Greg was happy to hear from Sherlock (and admittedly this M. Holmes, who it had turned out had an entire first name that wasn’t just “M.”) and to know that he was recovering well, evidently with much help from the work Greg could offer. He would stop by the hospital to see him at least every other day, though he preferred more often as it didn’t take long for Sherlock to burn through the cases he was given. _That boy was awfully intelligent, no doubt about that,_ Greg thought. _Shame to see him so low._

Nearly every day came a new email from M. Holmes, whose name turned out to be Mycroft. Peculiar, Greg thought, but rather nice. Fit in his mouth quite nicely indeed. Greg was embarrassed to admit that he enjoyed their short conversations, despite that most of their entirety was centered around Sherlock and his status. Their most recent interaction had happened in person, to Mycroft’s surprising request. He had written something along the lines of, “I rather appreciate your help with Sherlock and such, and with the holiday so near, perhaps we could get coffee?” Greg had been quite taken by this, and he would be lying had he said he wasn’t at least a little excited.

They’d met yesterday, 23rd December. Their conversation started as it usually had, Sherlock’s current physical state and a request for more work. Greg had been worried he was running low on resources - the holiday season was generally calmer in regards to criminal activity due to so called “Christmas spirit”. Nonetheless, he was sure to bring his best. The chat turned from professional to a bit more personal quickly, the first real human to human conversation between the two. _Refreshing, intriguing,_ Greg thought. By the end of it, they’d decided that Sherlock spending Christmas alone in hospital would be a shame. Mycroft explained vaguely the intricacy of their relationship, after which Greg offered to have him stay at his for the holiday. He wasn’t certain Mycroft would appreciate the offer, but he decided it was worth a shot. To his surprise, however, Mycroft had seemed quite relieved and said he thought it was a grand idea and thank you very much again for everything.

So, there he was, headed out of the office for the holiday and headed to the shops to pick up something for Christmas dinner before stopping to collect Sherlock. There was an unfamiliar spring in his step; he supposed it must’ve been simply getting to share Christmas with someone for the first time since the divorce.

Once in the shop, he selected a nice roast (nothing too fancy, mind - he wasn’t as great of a cook as he’d like to believe) and potatoes and made his way to the register. When the cashier told him to swipe his card and the option came up, ‘Would you like to donate to benefit the hospital?’, Greg had quickly accepted and donated the difference (roughly £30). The hospital had done a lot for the people in his life at the moment, after all.

Finally, he was off to collect Sherlock for the weekend. Greg wasn’t sure he was entirely _excited_ about it, but it had to be better than staying in hospital. Right? When he arrived, Sherlock had his things neatly in a rucksack, which was deposited in the boot before the lanky boy climbed into the passenger seat. _He really is all limbs,_ Greg thought to himself, closing the car door behind Sherlock.


End file.
